Mechanism
by NetherInk
Summary: Annie was gone. His child was gone. And then everything finally came into focus- made so much sense. And for the first time- Arthur felt the line draw too thin. Rated T for language and violence, better summary inside.


**Title: Mechanism **

**Plot: Clockwood is a city filled with riches- where high-class citizens reside and work- where business owners try to make their living. But even in this city lies a dark corruption, one that shows no mercy and would kill anything and anyone in its path. Alfred is determined figure out who is causing this whilst also looking for someone who he left a long time ago. But there is more than what meets the eye, and the truth can be more deadly than the secrets buried under the mechanical gears. **

**Rating: T-violence and language (ratings may change in later chapters)**

**NetherInk does not own Hetalia (characters are meant to act ooc in this chapter) **

Chapter One- Grinding the Past to Dust

Feliciano Vargas was jostled awake by a loud train whistle and a bump on the tracks. Shifting a little in the red bench like seat, he gave a yawn and shut his eyes again. He willed his mind to sink back into the darkness the occupied him just moments before, but with a grunt of frustration, Feliciano realized that wouldn't be the case. Opening his eyes for the second time, he parted the velvet curtain and gave a short look at the landscape before him. Wintertime had just rolled in and it showed. Already, though it was early December, snow had collected on the tall pines making them look like the tips were dipped in powder. The ground was covered with the fine substance, making it almost blinding to look at against the sun. It was a surprise when they said the tracks for the train didn't ice over and delay anyone's trips. Slipping a black glove off, Feliciano drew a smile on the window, wincing slightly when the olive skin met with the freezing glass. Giving out a long sigh, he tried to smile back at it, but found it hard and gave up. Though grinning came natural to him, today the warm and cheery buzz of the other passengers made him want to puke. Their non-stop chatter and the sounds of wine glasses clinking together filled his ear and pounded against his skull. He knew where they were from, it was as obvious as counting 1 2 3. The way they wore fancy garments with fur lacings and tight leather boots. How the men bowed to the ladies, kissing their hand and cheeks, winking with a sly smile. How the conductor let them pay less, whilst he was charged extra for _one too many bags_. Clockwood people no doubt. People from the rich city up north, the capital of everything else. They were arrogant, they were snobs, and they could get you arrested just because you stepped on their dainty little shoes. Feliciano knew from experience, and boy did he hate these people with a burning passion. It wasn't because of the money difference or appearance. He was perfectly happy wearing his orange and white-striped shirt and black suspenders. He liked his auburn hair and curl. He liked his baby cheeks, even though they were smudged and scraped with dirt. He loved his small cottage out in the country with the tomato farm spread out in the back yard. Feliciano counted himself a rich man at heart, and though seventeen, was proud to drop out of school to help his ailing brother with the farm.

The train made a sudden stop, jerking Feliciano out of his trance and _smack_ into the window. Letting out an _ow,_ he shut the curtain, rubbing his nose and putting back on the glove. Sinking down, he snuggled into the cushions and put his fedora over his face. Biting the lower lip, he closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. As he felt himself drift off again, a sharp knock made him slap his knee and take the black and white striped fedora off with as much anger as he could possibly muster. He was tired, god awful tired, and before he could processes who was standing before him, he hissed, "What do you want?"

The stranger was taking off his top hat and gloves, completely oblivious to the snide question. After about a second or two, the passenger swiped at his pants a little before making eye contact with the Italian and smiled. Feliciano took one hard look before covering his mouth with his hand and apologized over and over again like a broken tape. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." The stranger was definitely Feliciano's age, perhaps a few months older. He had messy dirty blonde hair and green eyes that seemed to glisten with pride. He was short and gaunt, though wearing the large black coat made him seem twice as large. But the one physical trademark that Feliciano could not take his eyes off was the stranger's extremely large eyebrows'. They wiggled with each expression the other person put on, animating his face with sarcasm. He was a city person, no doubt from Clockwood. Still and all, the other man held out a white-gloved hand, saying boastfully, "Name's Arthur Kirkland, pleasure to meet you, " So he is British eh…

As if almost in a trance, Feliciano took the hand, mumbling, "I'm sorry," under his breath. Arthur laughed, dropping the hand to his side.

"Is your name really I'm sorry, or are you just pulling my leg?" He asked, taking his time putting his luggage on the metal beams above the seats. Feliciano watched Arthur warily, calculating what he should do next. He could always fake his identity, but he could get in big trouble. Tapping his chin lightly, Feliciano watched as the peculiar man sat himself down next to him. Seeing as he wouldn't escape the question or escape Arthur entirely, Feliciano leaned back farther and stated, "No sir, it's a- Feliciano."

Arthur raised an eyebrow (damn Feli could have sworn they are like big hairy caterpillars). It looked as if he was studying Feliciano with mild curiosity, the lively green eyes trailing from the face to the tip of his mud stained shoes. Finally, the Briton reached into his coat pocket and took out a cigar. Lighting it, he took a long drag before breathing out. The smoke came out in puffs before ringing around his fingers. The gray ash fell down like specks of dust as he tapped the belvedere, the gloved finger beginning to turn dark from the soot. He looked like a king, in Feliciano's mind. A king that seemed as dirty and as rotten as garbage itself. Still- Feliciano kept a smile and tried his best to appear friendly. Arthur glanced over, cursed at himself for no reason, and began digging around in his coat pocket some more. When it seemed he finally found what he was looking for, Mr. Kirkland held out a small box of cigars, opening the top carefully as if it was some prized possession. They were smaller than the one that Arthur was smoking now, but cigars nonetheless.

"Would you care for one?" Arthur asked sheepishly, " I forgot to offer you one, I'm sorry, un-proper of me to do so."

Knowing that it would be foolish to decline, and that the consequences could be severe, Feliciano said, "Why a- thank you," and grabbed one. Arthur flipped open the silver and gold lighter and happily lit the Italian's cigar, watching as he took a drag and sighed in contentment. Pleased with himself, Arthur rested his feet on the oak table in front of them and took another swing at the cigar, the substance burning his lungs. It was like sucking in fire, only it was so addicting. Feliciano never really smoked, it was too expensive for a decent joint and he much preferred the spit tobacco anyways. His brother though was far more addicted and couldn't go one day without spitting and chewing the leaves. _By god is he going to be jealous_, Feliciano mused to himself, enjoying the stranger's gift much more now. However, as silence slowly stretched between the two, Feliciano began to feel more awkward than enlightened by Arthur's presence. Clearing his throat, the Italian shuffled a little closer to the window.

"Veh, so, why is a-city person like a-you coming out into the country like a- this?" Feliciano asked timidly, flicking the dying stub of the cigar onto the floor and stomping on it with the heel of his shoe. Arthur chuckled, his shoulders slumping forward and his head bowing slightly.

"It's a hell of a long story, I'm not sure if you want to bloody hear it," he mumbled, the gaze making its way to Feliciano. Stuffing his hands into his pants pockets, Feliciano shrugged. Drawing in a breath and taking another smoke, Arthur threw his head back against the seat and was still for a moment. His mouth was set in a straight line and his eyes grew colder and colder until Feliciano thought they would crack. The train bumped again. But Arthur wouldn't budge. It was like he was transfixed on the ceiling, as if Feliciano didn't exist and only the thoughts that drifted in his mind was the only thing he could comprehend.

"Uh-sir?" Feliciano whispered, tempted to reach out and place a hand on the frozen man's shoulder. However, before he could do such a thing, Arthur began to talk.

"You see, it started last December, near Christmas. God was it bloody cold, snowing too. Anyways, my mum and dad were hosting a party- a big party mind you. There was lots of food, lots of women, lots of-uh-booze. My parents were as drunk as ever when this young girl came in. She was around fifteen then, I was sixteen, and well, I was pretty damn foolish. I prided myself into saying I could hold more liquor than anyone-I desperately wanted to impress her. She was damn pretty, with a bloody nice arse, one that jiggled constantly with each step she took. Anyways, she boasted that she could drink more liquor than I could. Soon, we were both as drunk as hell, taking shot after shot. She reached over and started kissing me. Soon it wasn't kissing, it was more and…"

He trailed off, scratching his head thoughtfully. Feliciano was stunned, looking at Arthur as if he had lost his mind. Maybe he had, Feliciano couldn't tell, but it seemed that the Briton trusted him right off the bat. Odd- Feli was a poor man, not a rich doctor, not someone that could help Arthur. "But I still love her."

The Briton whispered before shifting again, his gaze snapping back to reality as the train lurched forward before heaving to a stop. The whistle blew high and loud and passengers immediately began scrambling to get their luggage. Arthur gave a heavy sigh- pulling himself off the seat and to grabbing his things. He snapped his gloves on and placed the hat on his head before turning to Feliciano.

"Well it was nice talking to you chap," said Arthur, gripping onto the golden handle of his bag. He tipped his top hat and slides the glass door open, taking one step forward before stopping abruptly.

"Oh and one more thing," he dug around his pockets- cursing on how forgettable and disorganized he was- and took out a small business card. He handed it over to Feliciano- which in turn looked at it. It was simple, just a white card with Arthur's name and a number. "If you ever need me, " and with that- Arthur Kirkland left.

Dumfounded, Feliciano continued to stare at the card. He rubbed his thumb on it a couple of times before a small smile formed on his lips. Maybe, just maybe- this could be it.

_/_

Arthur Kirkland stepped off the train, giving a small wave at the conductor before looking back at the street. A green road sign was iced over from the frost and all the houses and lawns were covered in snow. The air was thick with smoke and oil as the train gave one last bellow before chugging off. He looked left to right –pulling his thick coat over his small frame- watching as his breath made little white puffs in the air. He made an immediate right.

Now- Arthur Kirkland was not a timid man. Hell- he could do anything and everything without some fear of its consequences. Conversing with a person from the slums, such as Feliciano, could have hurt his reputation. And yet Arthur gave no second thought- no rational thinking; it's no wonder he got that girl pregnant. But now- Arthur's heart was beating in excitement and he couldn't control the smile that spread across his lips. His palms felt sweaty (so in turn he took his gloves off) and his whole frame shook in nervousness. Tonight was his son's first birthday. And yes- even though Arthur was busy with taking over the family business in Clockwood- he still made a surprise trip to see his child.

The snow crunched under his leather boots and the whole street was dead silent. The sky was clear- stars twinkling- the moon guiding his way. Arthur slipped his hand into his pocket- pulling out a piece of notebook paper with an address written in messy scribble. He looked at the house numbers carefully- each one making his heart beat faster in faster as they moved closer to his. His thoughts drifted to how long he would spend time with his child. How long he would be away after he leaves. The closer he got the farther away he felt and the sinking feeling of knowing that whatever choice he made now would never effect the future haunted him. His green eyes snapped to one house number and he stopped-his breath catching in his throat.

Arthur Kirkland was indeed not a timid man.

His coat swayed with each giant step he took.

And each step sent him closer to the door.

His eyes gleamed and excitement flared in his chest.

He pulled out the key and stuck it into the lock-only to have the door swing open all on it own- the hinges giving a lonely creak. Arthur arched an eyebrow curiously. This wasn't…_natural _was it? The door was suppose to open right? He looked at the hinges, crouching down and sliding his fingers against the dark wood. It creaked and sputtered- the whole house seeming to moan in some sort of agony. Or was it the wind? The Briton couldn't tell any more. Nothing was adding up-nothing made much sense. That was until his digits met up with a dent. A pretty large dent. A dent with many other dents lining up and down along it. _Bullet holes_. Fear immediately seized him and he shot up, "Annie?" No response. Arthur swooped in, his coat swishing around his ankles.

"Annie?" he called again, this time louder. Still the house answered in cold silence. Arthur walked at least two steps before something crunched from underneath him. He didn't even bother to look down- his vision was fixated on something he dreaded the most.

The whole house was trashed. Debris laid everywhere- trashcans tipped over and stuffing from pillows. The windows were busted and picture frames were turned over as if cowering. The doors hanged ajar and the air smelled of gun smoke. The lights were flickering and the TV was just a mess of static. Numbly Arthur Kirkland turned his head towards the kitchen- his head movements jerking like a mechanical toy. That room was no better actually it was far worse.

He stepped in- his hand trailing the marble countertop, his feet dodging the paper and food on the floor. He felt blank, the concept that Annie and his child might be _dead _not sinking in. He couldn't accept that, he wouldn't accept that.

A note was stuck on the fridge when he got near, the only thing that seemed clean. It stood out- the vibrant yellow making him sick. Arthur reached forward- grabbing the note and reading it only to let out a chocked cry. His whole body was shaking and he fell to his knees, not even realizing that the note had long since fallen from his hands. Tears began to brim his eyes.

Annie was gone. His child was gone.

And then everything finally came into focus- made so much sense. And for the first time- Arthur felt the line draw too thin.

He slowly stood- gripping the counter for support. Anger crawled its way into Arthur- eating and tearing at his heart. He knew what he wanted to do- whoever did this was going to pay. They were going to suffer. And Arthur didn't care how many people would get in his way.

Arthur Kirkland was not a timid man.

_/_

After a couple hours, Feliciano got off the train, just a small potato sack filled with various medicines and leftover food from the trip. He dusted himself off a bit- fixing his hair and flashing a couple of practice smiles. His brother always nagged him on how he had to present himself better might as well do it now. And besides- after receiving that card from the _wealthy _Arthur Kirkland, his day immediately brightened. The house was a bit old- the dark mahogany structure worn down and peeling. The grass around it was yellow and barely covered in snow- mostly from years of neglect. Yet the air was clean and Feli was just so happy to be back where he belonged.

"Home sweet home."

He marched up the steps, swinging the door open, "Ve, fratello I'm home!" A loud cough was his only response. Feliciano grinned from ear to ear- setting down his bag and slipping off his shoes. He crept to a smaller room, edging his way to his brothers bedside before plopping himself down.

"How are you-a feeling Lovino?" Feli sang- swinging his feet. Lovino groaned and that's when Feli gave one good look at him.

His skin was pale and grey- sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair was falling out showing patches of skin. His lips looked dry and cracked with his cheeks sunken in. He was so thin that just the thought of touching him would make him shatter. "Don't…do that, " he wheezed- breath smelling of fever. Feliciano frowned and placed a hand on Lovino's forehead gently. It was so hot- worse than when he left three days ago. Actually- three days ago, Lovino was able to sit up at least. Feli bit his lower lip as he watched his brother shudder and whisper, "So, cold." Feliciano immediately ran to get blankets- grabbing about five or six before laying them down on his fragile brother.

"I got some-a medicine," Feli said, hoping to lighten up the atmosphere. Lovino opened his mouth to reply- but no sound came out except for the harsh beatings of a cough. He continued- each cough getting louder until blood splattered onto the blankets.

"I don't think there's any need," Lovino whispered hoarsely. Feliciano looked up and down at his brother- shaking his head.

"No fratello- see this-a rich man gave me his- a number. I'll be able to pay for whatever medical things you-a need!" Feliciano exclaimed- waving his hands for emphasis.

Lovino frowned. "All you need to-a do is trust me."

Sighing- Lovino gave into a small smile- lifting a shaking hand to stroke his brothers hair. "I wish I had your optimism."

"Maybe if you tried hard enough then," Feliciano was cut off when Lovino snapped back, "Maybe I'm just tired of trying!"

Feli shrank back, pulling his fedora off his head and twisting it in a nervous manner. Lovino was getting paler by the second and the argument wasn't helping any. "I'm sorry," Feliciano, whispered, "I'm sorry." Lovino looked away, regret washing over him, and finally the words spilled out,

"Feliciano Vargas- I'm dying."

Feliciano gaped at Lovino- the words disappearing from his throat; his heart was pounding so loud he swore the world could probably hear it.

"What?"

Lovino didn't respond- his eyes flickering from his brother to the pillow.

"No, nonononono," Feli jumped off the bed, running to the potato sack, ripping it open and searching for any medicine that would help Lovino- stop him from dying. His vision blurred as the hot tears streamed down his face. He screamed- grabbing the bag and hurtling it across the room. "Shit."

Lovino cringed, and as he could feel his heart slow down- he called, "Feli, come over here."

Feliciano turned, dragging himself to his brother and throwing his arms around Lovino- his sobs racking his body. "Don't die," he pleaded-his voice muffled from his brothers shirt. "Shh, hey- it's all right okay- I love you, I love you so much," Lovi whispered, his voice dying as the last strand of life faded away. " I love you too," Feliciano muttered. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, looking at the dresser besides Lovino's bed. Faded blue and black goggles sat perched by a hook. Feli fingered it slightly, running his thumb across the black lenses. He laughed a little, a smile cracking into his tear-stained face.

"Remember when dad gave this to you?"

Lovino didn't respond- he was so still and when Feliciano started shaking his shoulder he realized how cold he was.

"I-I guess your just asleep, ve- I'll go make some pasta then si?"

Feliciano numbly moved to the kitchen.

His brother was alive-

He was just taking a quick nap-

And as Feliciano cooked the pasta- Lovino's voice played over and over again in his mind.

**A/N: Heey , so this idea has been on my mind for a bit- and let me tell you there is more to the plot then what I wrote –Ijustreallydidn'tknowhowtoexplainit- anyways- I rushed the ending a bit but you know what hatersgonnahate. Ahh what else to say- well the ratings probably going to change 'cause it is going to get a bit gory at some parts- just a heads up. And this story is going to have some steampunk influence- another heads up. Haha /rolls away/**


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